We sat on the sea wall, my brothers and I, waiting for dad to change a flat tyre.

    "How do you eat an Elephant?" asked my baby brother.

Mac had been driving us mad with that one ever since he found it in a Christmas cracker. 

     "One.  Bite.  At.  A.  Time." I replied through gritted teeth.

      "Yes, but how do you eat a hotel" asked an old lady leaning against the wall.

       "what" we answered in unison.

        "See those iron work  gates over there" she said pointing over the road. 

        "There used to be a nice hotel there once, it was called 'The Eleanor' had a ballroom, posh restaurant and even a sunken Rose Garden where you could have afternoon tea, with little sandwiches, scones, and tea in fancy teapots.  Lots of famous people stayed there, film stars and millionaires, until it got eaten away"

        "What ate it" asked Edward. 

       "Aliens" interjected Mac jumping off the wall "like in Star Trek, Aliens coming down from space"

The old lady started laughing "no, no, not aliens" she spluttered, "it was..." but we never heard the rest as dad yelled  "Come on kids we're on our way."

 Once we were settled into the car mum asked "who were you talking to?"

      "Just some mad old lady" I replied

       "Hay!" said dad "thats not nice, and what do you mean by mad?"

        "Well, she reckoned someone ate a hotel"

       "What hotel"

        "The one thats not there, was called the Eleanor"

        "Hum, suppose she's right, in a way"

Mum gave him a funny look.

Termites he explained.

        "Yea"yelled Mac "like that SarahJane lady coming back from the future"

          "What on earth have you kids been watching?" asked mum

          "No, not Terminator you twit," said dad "termites, small things like ants"

          "small things, like ants?" said Mac puzzled 

         "so how do they eat a hotel?"

  I looked at Edward

            "One bite at a time" we chorused.

He thought he’d be the first to go, him with this affinity for pasta and Guinness Stout, carrying that spare tire all these years as a testament to her fine cooking and his lack of will. Every time he’d indulged in a stogie down at the club, she had frowned and given him that look. She said he was a walking advertisement for how to die without really trying.

Instead, like a cruel cosmic joke, it had been her, his Martha, the salad eater, Robert Frost reader, power walker, barely-social-drinker and smoke-detester; she had gone first. After forty wonderful years, the stroke had taken her as surely and swiftly as if she’d been right there beside him all those years—indulging all the way.

Her death had nearly killed him, too. But he’d held on, for the children, for the grandchildren. Even though he felt like a walking apology for not going first. He still held on. He didn’t know what else to do.

Eventually, he even went back to the club. His old pals, Jake and Ira, kept after him until he gave in. There was no one else they could beat so handily on the golf course, they said. No one whose money they could take so easily. They were good friends. So he’d returned. Sometimes, he would even tip a glass to Martha; stub his stogie out early.

Tonight, after he’d stubbed out his cigar and the last spark had died away, he was certain he’d heard the tinkling sound of her laughter. It had sounded like harness bells.

That’s when he knew it was time to go home.

The trek to the house felt like magic. He kept his eye on the sidewalk, as if a yellow brick road might suddenly appear beneath the finely falling snow.

His house—really Martha’s house, her stamp was so evident he could’ve mailed it across the sea—stood like a sturdy sentinel against the grief of everyday life.

He fit his key into the lock, reassured by the heavy clunk of the tumblers inside the ancient mechanism. Some things don’t wear out. Some things last a long, long time. Maybe forever.

He smiled at the thought that his house, their house, with this same complicated, antique, door lock, had been here before he was born, and would probably be here long after he was gone—long after they were both gone—provided it was properly maintained.

Stamping the snow from his good shoes, he hung his coat on the rack and went straight to the corner table in the den where they kept a bottle of Rémy Martin in a crystal decanter. The sound-memory of the sleigh bells at the club brought a smile to his face as he removed the cut-glass stopper and tipped a bit of cognac into a snifter. A nightcap would warm him from the inside out, and a fire in the fireplace would warm him from the outside in.

He pressed the button on the remote control and a gas log bloomed with flame. A chuckle rose in his throat as he recalled Martha’s insistence that a fire made that easily was hardly worth having, and then he lowered himself into his customary easy chair. Placing his glass on the ever-present coaster beside him, he rested his feet upon the tufted footstool, and closed his eyes.

But he couldn’t relax. Something was off. Something big. He got up and wandered about, drink in hand, checking doors and windows, looking for anything out of the ordinary.

He found nothing amiss, but the chair no longer beckoned so he turned off the fire, sipped his last sip of cognac, and rinsed his glass in the kitchen sink the way Martha had taught him. Placing it carefully in the red drain board on the counter, he turned out the light and proceeded across the room by the bright reflection of moonlight on new snow.

A pocket of darkness waited in the hallway.

Was that a footstep on the stair, on that one squeaky riser he’d never been able to conquer? He hesitated, waiting to hear it again, breath aching in his suddenly-too-tight chest.

Hand over his heart, he made his way upstairs, where he peered out at the night from between their navy and gold bedroom curtains. His eye found the humped up shape of her snow-blanketed privet hedge. It defined the western boundary of the pristine yard. Beyond was only forest. A vast wooded National Park Preserve.

The park was one of the main reasons they had fallen in love with the place when they were newlyweds. Try as they might, they had never been able to explore every nook and cranny. Martha had dubbed it “the forest of the poets.” She joked that she could easily imagine a little horse stopping by.

To him, it was more like Narnia.

He took a final survey of his home. All the doors were locked, windows secure, lights doused . . . except for the reading lamp over his chair. He could see it from the landing. The Victorian lamp glowed cozily. He’d left the ball stopper off the decanter of cognac. Martha’s favorite book of poetry still lay beside her chair. He only allowed Mrs. L to move it on cleaning day. She knew to put it right back when she was done. Even the bookmark was still in place. He liked the way it looked there, as if his dear Martha had simply marked her place and gone upstairs ahead of him.

Peering down at his chair, beneath the cozy light, the tightness in his chest eased. Nothing was amiss. All was well.

He trod lightly back down to the kitchen, consciously stepping on the squeaky riser, but it made no sound.

Stepping out the back door, he gazed out upon the bright, bright night.

The snow had been falling for hours. The trees wore white shawls and icy beards. The privet hedge only appeared when he neared it.

He glanced back at his footprints, wondering what the children would think, if they noticed them at all. Wondering if Martha had left prints he hadn’t known to see.

Past the privet, she took his hand. This time, he definitely heard the gentle shake of harness bells. Whose woods are these, I think I know . . .

She handed him a stogie and he smiled at her lovely, beloved face.

“It’s still snowing,” he said.

She stuck out her tongue to catch a flake.

He squeezed her hand, contentment flooding him at last.

Her fingers were warm as toast, even in the frigid air. “I think the tracks will fill in. I’m not expecting anyone until tomorrow.”

Together they turned and strolled into the Robert Frost woods. “Narnia,” he whispered, just to get her goat. “Maybe the talking beasts will appear.”

She laughed her tinkly laugh and led him through the trees.

Behind them, his solitary footprints grew shallower and shallower under the soft onslaught of snow.

Good Morning, Prosers,

The way publishers find new authors might have just changed forever.

We are pleased to announce that we have joined forces with publishing giant Simon & Schuster, whose legacy includes Ernest Hemingway, Carrie Fisher, and Stephen King.

Simon & Schuster’s editing team hopes to discover the next generation of great authors by utilising our challenge feature and our social community, initially through a 500-2000 word writing challenge that ends June 1, prompting you to, “Write a story, chapter, or essay about whatever you like. The 50 best entries will be announced by Prose and read by Simon & Schuster’s editorial staff for consideration.”

This challenge stipulates a minimum of 500 entries and a maximum of 2,000.

We will announce the top-50 entries on June 21, 2017.

Here is the challenge URL: https://theprose.com/challenge/5367

We hope you are as excited about this as we are. If you know people who would like to get noticed by Simon & Schuster, spread the word(s).

Until next time, Prosers,

Prose.

Said the Father to his children,

"Let all that you do be done with love."

Unconditionally, to everybody,

helping others rise above.

When I was young

a sadness lived

deep in me

tearing apart my skin.

I ached and bled

and begged for death

refusing to let anyone in.

Now as I recover,

I hope I can

change the way

things work.

Because no matter

where a person comes from

love is the least they deserve.

For from love, compassion flows

spreading like a virus.

Get to know your brother, from what he needs

to the color of his iris.

Love trumps hate, as we know

and thus love shall be upheld.

As a moral compass, strive for it,

help others do good and be well.

I could be a genius, a prodigy

the most talented the world has seen.

But without love, what good is it.

Happiness, from me, will flee.

But with love, we can heal the broken

the weary, and the bruised.

Embrace and praise and give freely,

what do you have to lose?

So, therefore, children, go out and love

let the fire of compassion burn.

And when you love, you deserve

to be loved in return.

I stroke my fingers down his long, thick hard cock. And then I repeat the action. Again and again. Each time gaining just a little bit more pressure. On the thirteenth stroke he moans, earning himself a slap on the huge organ.

Ooh, I love the sound he makes as he receives the feeling of mixed pain and pleasure. I feel myself get wetter as our time together passes. "No Rhyse! You bad, bad boy. No talking. No moaning or groaning or growling. Now you're not allowed to move either. Understand?" I look at him and wait for his answer. He doesn't respond. Ooh yes! He's learning.

I'll have to find a new one to play with soon. When he knows all the rules and abides by them I'll start to get bored. Rhyse is one of my favourites. Because he's huge. Really huge. At a massive 10 inches long and 4 thick, I can't fuck him. And when I do get extraordinarily brave I have to circle his cock with my fingers at a certain point on his special dick and he can't thrust past that point.

Oh but he's so fun to play with. My favourite game is where I mark the length of his flaccid dick on his stomach with a felt tip, then I tell him dirty stories. If his dick twitches or becomes hard, he has to succumb to the punishments or tasks I set. Each time his dick moves in any way, Shape or form, I add a mark to his stomach. The most marks I've gotten is 51.

Ahh, that was a fun day. I lower my head to the tip of his beast, my tongue ready, when I hear it.

"Rapunzel, Rapunzel. Let down your hair."

Ergh. Not now... I throw myself toward the window of the tower and look down at him. He seems tiny all the way down there.

"It's Sunday Andrew. We don't do Sundays." I shout down to him.

"Oh Rapunzel. Let me climb up and keep you company." Does he not understand. He must already know that once I've said something, that's it. Everybody knows. They call me stubborn. I say it's strong.

I shout back down to him before retreating back inside, away from his view. "No! It's Sunday. I'm playing with my horse!" Rhyse has gone soft. Softer than he was anyway. I get back on my knees beside him to realise I've grown bored. I crave something new. Different. And I want it to just happen. I don't want to teach nor train any of these men to do it for me. But I suppose it will happen on it's own. In time.

"Time for you to leave Rhyse. I need to wash my hair." I stood and began to walk away, Before he offered me his assistance.

"I could help you wash your hair Rapunzel. I'll do it just as you like, massaging you the whole time."

"No. Please leave. I'd like to be alone. Use my hair before I leave the room or you'll have to climb down."

He was quick. As I knew he would be. He hooked my hair by the window, and then he was gone. I put all of my toys away in the large white cupboard before going to my bed to daydream about all the different possibilities.

Some fantastic pornographic material. Some far too bland. But I'll keep dreaming. Something will happen. One day....

15 days later.

I have just finished bathing my body when I hear unusual noises from outside the tower. Shouts and footfall in the nearby woods. I rush to the open window of the tower to see a man running this way. He's running away from people.

Ooh that means he's done something bad. That means he's bad. Ahh, a big bad man. I know he'll try and get in the tower. There's nowhere else for him to run nor hide. Right, what's my plan? Oh. I have the perfect idea.

I rush to my bureau and pull out the long faded floral nightgown. It's not sexy at all. It's more something you'd see a grandmother wear. But nevertheless, I slip it on over my head and stand by the window ready for him to call my name and ask me to let down my hair so he can come up.

I'm rather surprised when I don't hear his voice, so I poke my head outside the window and look to see what's happening. I'm actually shocked to see him climbing the towers wall by himself with no aid whatsoever. He's strong, and even from high up here I can see his large muscles bulging and tensing with his movements. A bubble of excitement bursts within me.

Something's finally happening. I rush to my bed and lie down, closing my eyes. I'm not too sure how I want to play this game with the strong stranger. But I'm sure it will be fun. So much fun.

~~*~~

As I hear his stumbles and crashes inside the tower, I stretch my body and moan like I've just awoken. Opening my eyes wide, I look over at him releasing a small gasp.

"Please don't hurt me Sir." Ooh, you can hurt me all you want you gorgeous man. As long as you hurt me the right way.

"I need to hide away for a while girl. What's your name?" His large muscled body saunters toward me, and I feel the top of my thighs dampen.

My god, he's hot. The black trousers are low on his waist and his loose white shirt has been ripped, revealing his mouth watering abs.

"My name is Rapunzel sir. What is it you intend on doing here? They'll look for you in the grounds of the forest for a long while." He stands before me at the edge of my bed. "Yes Rapunzel, I understand they will search for a long time. That's why you will entertain me. Stop my mind from wandering if you will."

"I most certainly will not entertain you sir. I have nothing here to entertain you with, and I am alone in this tower. So there's nobody else to keep you occupied either!"

Haha! Come on. Come and get me. He looks me square in the eyes and I watch as they fill with lust. I'm winning this game already, and I haven't even begun trying yet.

"Take off your nightgown Rapunzel. Let me see what's beneath the fabric." "Ahh, how rude! No. I will not undress. I have never before been naked in front of a man."

He takes a step closer and leans down, his face now level with mine. And with a deep throaty growl, he speaks only one word.

"Now!" I answer with the exact same respect.

"No!" Ahh yeah, come on. I'm not giving in that easy. You can do it tiger. Rip the damn nightgown from my body. Please...

He grabs me by my wrists and pulls me to my feet making me stumble and fall against his chest. Oh my. Such a hard chest.

"Please sir. Please don't hurt me." I know my innocent facade is working when he literally does as I mentally asked. He grips the neckline of my nightie and pulls. His big muscles flex in the most delicious way as the material tears right down the middle. I widen my eyes into a look of fear and use my long hair to cover my body.

"You've got a damn tasty body Rapunzel. Don't hide it with your hair. Let me see." he closes in on me and grabs a hold of my hair. Excitement bubbles up in me and I subconsciously make my next move. I fight.

"No!" I shout, and then I shove his chest and pull away. He pulls me back towards him with no trouble. He's strong. I can up my game. I shove, slap and scratch before running over to the dining area of the tower. He's not only strong, but fast too. He catches me quick.

He slams my body down against the wooden table. He holds me down by holding my wrists high above my head against the wood. And then he presses his hardness against my naked bottom. My nipples have hardened against the rough wood and my juices run fast.

I'm about to moan and rub myself against him, but I remember the game. "Please.." I whimper.

"Please what, you slut? What do you want? You want me shove my cock in your tight little body now? You got me all excited with that little chase. I'll hold you down while I ram it in your hot cunt!"

"No. I meant please, please don't rape me." I'm met with silence and I hope I haven't played the card too hard. I'm not ready for the game to end, and I'm thinking of a way to change things when I feel him.

His hand slides up my inner thigh, and into my juices. He keeps me pinned to the table as he pushes two fingers inside my pussy with one hard thrust of his wrist.

"Fuck! Rapunzel you're so wet. It isn't rape if you want it." Imbecile. Of course it's still rape. No means no. Luckily, my no means yes. He flips me over so that I'm on my back and he keeps one hand wrapped around my wrists while the other gets busy freeing his cock.

"Why is your hair so long?" He asks me as if confused, and then he slams into me. His big cock filling my pussy in one hard thrust. Shock mingles with pleasure. I didn't expect it yet. I thought he'd lead up to it. Play with me a bit. He stays still, unmoving, buried inside of me, awaiting the answer to his question.

"It's magic!" I breathe out. I've never had somebody control me like this and I know he's naturally dominant.

"Touch it." Instead of placing his hand in my hair, he grabs my thigh and lifts the one leg before pulling back and slamming into me. I cry out as the feelings rock through me. It feels different. I look up just in time to see his smirk. He knows I'm not innocent. Looks like he was just playing along.

He lifts my leg higher and again flips me onto my front. My pussy twists around his thick dick and an orgasm nearly popped in me right there. With his cock in my cunt and his hands on my waist, he backs away from the table until only my hands grip the edge of the hard wood.

"Hold on tight." He murmers and then begins to fuck me. Hard. My body burns from the position he has me in. He slams me against him with each thrust, only his grip on my thighs and my grip on the table stop me from falling. My orgasm builds quickly, as he pounds in and out of my excited core. I explode.

My orgasm makes me weak and he doesn't slow his actions. I loosen my grip from the table. I slip. He doesn't stop, but tightens my legs around his waist. "Keep your hands flat on the floor slut!" I do as he says. It's my only choice or I'll hurt myself.

He fucks me harder, faster. My whole weight is on my arms, as he frantically fucks me in this handstand position. I squeal out when I feel the hard slap on my bare arse. He does it again and again in between his hard rough thrusts. I come again. My orgasm huge. He knows I can't hold myself anymore. And he doesn't take long to change our position.

With a pop, he pulls out of me and marches me over to the open window. He places only my middle back on the windows edge, so that the top half of my body is outside and the bottom half of my body is inside. He uses my hair to tie my legs up high. Securing them at the hooks either side of the window.

Then he pounds his huge hard cock into me. Over and over again. The magic from my hair is bringing his nature from the core to the surface. It shows his dominance as he fucks me with an eager animal passion. He doesn't have to hold my thighs or waist any longer as the hair holds me in place. He can fuck me harder. Faster.

He does, he fucks my pussy with no mercy whatsoever. He starts to use his hands too. One pinches and squeezes my nipple hard making me moan louder still. The other comes to my clit. I come before he even starts to excite my clit properly. But when my orgasm is over he grabs that clit with finger and thumb and doesn't let go. He has me coming again and again. And he never relents. Never calms down.

By the time he gets close to his own release, my limp used body is half hanging out the window. He can't help but force one more huge orgasm. And my body shudders and jerks with the release.

I can't take anymore, and he knew it long before I squirted my juices up his naked chest. We come together. He roars his pleasure, as my nonsense words hiccup from me. He unties my legs and drops me by the bed.

"I can go now Rapunzel. They've stopped searching for me. Great entertainment. I know where to go next time."

And with that, he climbed from the window. I've been used. For the first time ever. Oh, I love me a criminal.

We had survived the apocalypse.

We had held humanity together.

We had begun to rebuild.

But the world truly ended.

When the TP was depleted.

We all stood, crowded in the cell in the belly of the Dawn Slayer as it sliced its way through the dark void of space. Albany's elbow dug into my ribs, and Kitty was crushed against my chest.

"I should have known," Gabriella lamented, "that Roman would betray us! I'm a Forerunner! I'm supposed to be able to see this stuff before it happens!"

"It wasn't your fault, you know," Chris soothed. "You didn't know, and none of us had any reason to distrust him."

"He saved my life," Jenny inserted.

"Speak of the devil..." I muttered, watching the door at the far end of the metal corridor slide noiselessly open.

We silenced, and I could see tears forming in Gabriella's eyes at the thought of the betrayal that Roman had pulled on us. We were now in the hands of our worst enemy.

"So," Roman drawled, smiling wolfishly as he surveyed us, "I've got the dreaded Warrior Elite and the Shadow Elite. How nice. Now, which one shall I question first?!"

Chris' fingers curled up into fists, and beside me, Albany stiffened, driving her elbow deeper into my ribs. I winced, but thought it wise not to say anything to the ultrapathic teen.

Zoe shoved her way to the front of the cell, which was no easy task seeing it was crammed with over twenty of us, and she was rather small to begin with it. "You betrayed your best friend! And now you do this?! Roman, you don't have to do this!"

Roman rolled his eyes. "Will we ever get past those little cliche phrases?"

"I mean it." Zoe's sharp green eyes shot daggers at him. "I can cause you quite a world of pain for it too."

"You're in a cell that blocks telepathic abilities; I'm not worried," he replied calmly. He scanned our faces, ignoring the open hate and disgust that was there. "You."

He was pointing at Kitty.

My sister.

"No," I said, firmly.

He pretended he hadn't hear me. "What's that, Blue Jay?"

"I said no," I repeated calmly. Inside, my heart was thumping faster and there was a pounding in my ears. Albany's elbow dug deeper into my ribs, and Kitty pressed back into my chest even more.

"I'm afraid you have no say in the matter," and he reached in and pulled Kitty out.

I couldn't stop him; all of my telepathic abilities were blocked.

Or could I do something?!

I pulled the oldest--and possibly cheesiest--play in the book, and stuck my foot in the door. Instantly, every single bone in my foot was crushed by the automatic, steel door. But it stopped the door.

Wincing in pain, and worry for my sister making me strong, Albany and Ryker helped me shove back the door and I limped through.

Albany gave a yelp and the door slammed shut again. It was just me against Roman. And he had a knife to my sister's throat.

"Get back in the cell."

"No. Don't you dare touch my sister!"

He pressed the knife closer against her throat, and a small thread of red showed.

"I said, don't touch her!" There was a sudden tingling in my hands, and there was a blinding flash of light.

"Don't you dare touch my sister!" I screamed again.

The light faded, to reveal Kitty, sitting, stunned, on the floor, holding her neck. And Roman was...a pile of ashes on the metal floor.

"His eyes are glowing," Ryker whispered hoarsely.

I whirled around, and caught reflection of myself in a computer screen on the wall by the cell. They were right; my eyes were a glowing, fiery blue--the pupils, the iris, the whites of them...the veins on my arms were outlined a glowing blue, and I stared in wonderment.

"What does it mean?!" I asked no one in particular.

"He's ultrapathic," Albany whispered.